Chapter 2

Revelations

A week had gone by since the family had returned from their vacation, and everybody had gotten back to their usual routine. The pair of producers had also started working on a new play, and as such, both Maxwell and C.C. were drowning in paperwork.

The blonde wasn't particularly interested in the play, though. C.C. was restless, she had been feeling out of sorts since she had woken up – it was as though something had happened or was about to happen. The blonde couldn't concentrate on the pile of paperwork before her nor at whatever was it that Maxwell was ranting about, so she limited herself to nodding absentmindedly at Max's questions and suggestions. Her eyes had drifted to the window, and she was staring at the beautiful day outside. She remembered that on days like this – when she was a student at Hogwarts – the Marauders and her would spend the afternoon sitting nearby the lake, scheming, playing Exploding Snap, or just doing whatever came to their minds.

How much she missed that freedom… how much she missed being able to be in her world!

"C.C. are you listening to me?!"

Maxwell's irritated voice brought C.C. out of her reverie. She looked back at her business associate, and straightened her posture.
"Uh, yes Maxwell, I my mind just wandered…" her voice sounded alarmingly melancholic, and she realised it only after she had spoken. Instantly she forced herself to focus, and closed up her previously saddened expression. Maxwell casted a wary look at her, his brows knitted in a furrow. Even if he was quite thoughtless, he'd have to be as thick as a brick wall not to notice something was troubling his business partner.

"C.C., are you sure you are alright? You've been quite distracted the whole morning,"

"I am ok Maxwell, I am just a bit tired." she lied, trying to appear nonchalant and relaxed. She failed miserably, of course.

Maxwell squinted his eyes at her, not exactly believing her words. If there was something C.C. never did, it was allow her tiredness to affect her work; the woman was a workaholic for Christ's sake! "C.C., if you need to take the day off, feel free to do it. I am heading out in a few minutes, and I won't need you at the theatre today."

"Forget it Maxwell, I'll stay here and deal with the paperwork, God knows how much of it there is…" C.C. grumbled, shooting an exasperated look at the enormous pile of scripts and contracts she still had to go over.

"Are you sure?" the Englishman insisted, but immediately desisted on his attempts to make her go home when he noticed the blonde staring daggers at him. "Alright, alright, I was just concerned," Maxwell rose his hands in defeat, and promptly stood from his chair. "In any case, I'll be out for the rest of the day, so please remember to call Mr. Bates. He was interested in our new play and you know he is a generous backer."

"Of course Maxwell, I will see to that," C.C. answered in a monotone as she went back to reading the awful script she was holding.

She barely noticed Maxwell leaving the room, nor did she hear when Niles stepped inside it, either. The butler began dusting the office, stealing occasional glances at his nemesis, who didn't even glance up at him. Niles had noticed she wasn't being quite herself since she had arrived to the mansion that morning – Miss Babcock seemed distracted, and what worried him the most was the lack of insults being fired at him. By the time he had headed to the terrace, his discomfort had reached its summit, for the woman hadn't even acknowledged his presence. Either she had blatantly ignored him, or there was something troubling her. Could it have to do with the mysterious ring?

Speaking of that, the matter of the ring – as he had taken to call it – had never been mentioned again during the duration of the trip (or after it, for that matter) and she had even bribed him into exchanging rooms for spending 20 minutes on the slots by his side! It was simply another issue – just like the kiss they had shared not so long ago – that the two had wordlessly agreed not to talk about.

In short, since they had returned home things had returned to a certain normality – they traded insults like normal people trade pleasantries, Maxwell had gone back to pretending that he didn't have feelings for his nanny, the children carried on with their social lives (or lack thereof, in Brighton's case), Niles snooped around and C.C. had gone back to being her usual ornery self.

Yet...

Niles had noticed with growing consternation the uncharacteristic glint of sadness that sometimes crossed C.C.'s eyes. In fifteen years of knowing the blonde, Niles could count with the fingers of one hand the times he had seen the producer being sad – yet in the past weeks he had witnessed a profound pain hiding behind her eyes alarmingly often. It was as though C.C. yearned for something unattainable, as though she had fallen beneath the angry waves of an invisible sea and she was gasping for the precious oxygen she simply couldn't get... there was an unforgiving storm raging inside her and the howling gales mercilessly battered her heart.

To her credit, she hadn't allowed that anguish to make itself known to the inexperienced eye, but Niles was anything but inexperienced when it came to C.C.; hence him noticing this perplexing new development and he being completely at loss. In an attempt to try to decipher what on earth was troubling the zealous producer, Niles had begun spying on her, paying more attention to what she did, but so far his attempts had been fruitless.

The butler momentarily stopped cleaning the terrace and glanced at the producer – she was on the phone now, and judging by her honeyed words, she was probably beguiling a backer into investing in Sheffield Productions latest play. Not that he would say it aloud, but she looked particularly beautiful that morning. C.C. had put on his favourite pencil suit – the taupe garment flattered her curvaceous figure, and she had loosened her hair, allowing it to fall down her shoulders like a lustrous golden waterfall. She was simply stunning, but his scrutiny came to a halt the moment the producer hung the phone and returned to her desk – after all, Niles wasn't about to get caught ogling at C.C..

No insults were flung as both butler and producer went about their respective tasks, which only irked him further. Just when he was about to leave for the kitchen, however, he caught something from the corner of his eye that almost made him lose his footing. For a second, he believed he had actually seen a book flying from the bookshelf towards the blonde woman, but when he looked again, the book was nowhere in sight and C.C. was simply writing something down on a notepad.

He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. He could have sworn...no matter. He probably just wasn't looking properly, and saw an optical illusion. There was no way it could actually have-

"Something the matter, Butler Boy?" the producer's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Hm?" he looked at her. "Oh, no, Miss Babcock...I...I was just-"

"Thinking about how sad and pathetic you must be to have to clean all this for a living?" C.C. smirked. "I completely agree."

He could defend himself by saying that he thought he saw something, but even if he then immediately dismissed it as just a trick of the light, she most likely wouldn't let him live it down for the rest of the day. The 'old man needing better glasses' jokes would only be the beginning. She might even go so far as suggesting to Mr Sheffield that he needed his eyes checked, which Maxwell would no doubt take as a serious suggestion and then send him off to an eye doctor, "just in case".

No, better to meet her zinger with one of his own.

"No, I was actually thinking about how ironic it is that you come into work for company, and yet even in here, you end up alone," he replied coolly.

That ought to do it.

Not letting her get another word in, he left her to scowl by herself and resumed his journey to the kitchen.

But the more he thought about it, the more he could have sworn he'd actually seen that book move.

"Damned servant," she grumbled, using her wand to close the doors. "If I didn't know better, I'd have hexed you already..."

The blonde woman tried to return to the load of paperwork she still hadn't been able to go over, but the more she tried to concentrate in it, the harder it became. Part of her inability to focus stemmed from the fact Sirius hadn't replied to the Patronus she had sent him a few hours ago – which was extremely unusual. Since Sirius had escaped Azkaban, C.C. had made a habit of visiting him every Tuesday evening, and she always sent him a Patronus detailing the time she would arrive. Normally Sirius would respond to her Patronus with his own, yet this time he hadn't.

Knowing her former fiancé, his silence most probably meant trouble; Sirius had voiced on many an occasion how useless he felt being cooped up inside his childhood home, and there had been quite a number of times when he had sneaked out of the house in his Animagus form. Of course the Order had prohibited him to do so, but when it came to obeying orders, Sirius was just as stubborn as C.C. was.

Figuring she wasn't going to be able to focus until she hadn't made sure Sirius was alright, and seeing as the butler was currently occupied in the kitchen, and that Maxwell, Nanny Fine and the three brats were out for the day, she decided to Apparate to Grimmauld Place. He is probably there, C.C. thought to herself as she locked the office doors – she didn't want Niles to try and get into it only to find her gone. Sirius was just having one of his bad days when he didn't want to socialise.

That had to be what was going on... right?

After double checking that the doors were properly secured, C.C. swiftly drew out her wand and Disapparated to number 12, Grimmauld Place.

She landed in the middle of a small and shabby square surrounded by a number of tall, decaying houses. The Muggles who lived there had long since accepted the funny numbering mistake which landed number 13 next to number 11 but, as it turns out, number 12 hadn't been forgotten but the house was Unplottable – meaning it was accessible only to wizards – and the front door could only be unlocked by a wizard using his or her wand. Grimmauld Place also was under the Fidelius Charm, and as C.C. had been told its location by the Secret Keeper – Albus Dumbledore – number 12 simply shoved its neighbouring houses out of the way as it appeared between them, revealing a worn set of front steps that led to a battered front door.

C.C. opened the entry with a flourish of her wand, finally venturing into the gloomy and cobwebby entrance hallway. Not wanting to inspect any of the many rooms in the house by herself, C.C. simply rose her wand and said, "Homenum Revelio!" but nothing happened. The spell was supposed to reveal human presences in the surrounding environment, and, as it had revealed that there was no one but her in that house, C.C. came to the vexing conclusion Sirius had, indeed, left the house.

"Fucking hell, Sirius," the producer hissed, stalking towards the kitchen. If there was a creature who would surely know Sirius' whereabouts, it was Kreacher.

"Kreacher? Kreacher, where are you?!" C.C. bellowed, storming into the cavernous kitchen, where the domestic elf was usually found. Unluckily – and much to the producer's chagrin – her furious scream awoke Walburga's portrait, and soon shrieks of "Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth!" echoed inside the decrepit house, awaking the rest of the portraits who soon joined Walburga's screaming.

C.C. momentarily paused her search for the elf and ran to the portrait, "Oh, shut up you insane, old witch!" she yelled as she closed the drapes before the painting with a quick spell. To her surprise, the moment she returned to the hallway that led to the kitchen, C.C. didn't find Kreacher; instead she found none other than Albus Dumbledore.

The producer felt her heart slowly sinking into her stomach, and it was as though the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped ten degrees. Why was the headmaster there? Since Umbridge had taken control of Hogwarts, Dumbledore had gone into hiding, hence his presence being both unsettling – for he wouldn't have come if it weren't important – and unexpected. It probably had to do with Sirius, too, and the producer could feel the suffocating feeling of anxiety pressing her lungs.

"Professor! Wh- why are you here?!" C.C. muttered, nervously fiddling with her wand. The old wizard had an ashen countenance, and the usual twinkle in his eyes was gone too, which only served to agitate C.C. further. The last time she had seen that expression on Dumbledore´s face was when he had informed her about James and Lily's murder...

"Miss Babcock, I think we had better sit down before we have this conversation."

"Where is Sirius, Professor?" she asked, ignoring his suggestion.

"I am afraid I must insist on you sitting do-"

"Where is he, Albus?!" the urgency in her voice made it clear she wasn't going – nor wanted – to wait.

"Very well, very well; I shall tell you," Albus relented, his voice slow and steady, realising that she would not consider anything other than being told immediately. He sighed, composing himself, and began. "There was an incident at the Ministry, in the Department of Mysteries."

C.C. blinked, her heart not having moved at all and now a cold dread settling over her, "What does that have to do with Sirius, Professor?"

"The incident involved Harry,"

Dumbledore telling her this only made her feel worse. The man was trying to explain whatever he had to tell her gently, but it was becoming agonising.

"Please, just tell me!" the producer was shaking by this point, and starting to sweat, even though the house was as cold as it always had been. What had happened? Why had Harry even been involved? She needed to know immediately! "The wait is killing me!"

"Voldemort showed Harry a vision of Sirius being tortured, and he and his friends went to rescue him," the headmaster continued. "But it was a trap, in order to trick Harry into retrieving his prophecy. The Death Eaters were there, waiting. There was a fight."

C.C.'s eyes widened in horror, "Is Harry alright?"

"Yes, he is fine," Dumbledore let out a soft breath. "The Order managed to come in time. Sirius went with them, insisting on helping save his godson. But he did not survive. He was involved in a duel with, and murdered by, Bellatrix Lestrange."

The professor was right about C.C. having to sit for what he had to say, for she collapsed against the wall as the news sank in. Her heart was no longer in her stomach, but she felt sick. Sicker than she'd ever felt before. Albus helped her into the kitchen, and into a chair at the table.

C.C. couldn't cry, she couldn't breathe or move – Sirius had been murdered... the man with whom she had almost had a future was gone forever, and she hadn't been able to say goodbye. Although she had already lost him in a way when he had been locked up in Azkaban, the pain caused by his death was, by far, the worst pain she had ever experienced in her life. It was as though it hurt to exist, as though there was a black hole where her heart was supposed to be.

As the dreadful news sunk in and the tears fell down, her sobs gained momentum until they turned into terrible and heart-breaking screams. Albus held her close to him, and rubbed her back in a soothing manner, trying to offer some comfort to the emotionally broken woman. He knew about her calling off the engagement, but the headmaster was also aware that Sirius was still one of the most important men in Miss Babcock's life. They had shared a lot, and had the first war never happened, her surname would have been Black by now.

"I am so sorry, Miss Babcock, I am so sorry," he whispered.

Part of C.C. just wanted to lie down and allow Earth to swallow her whole, but another part of her wanted to hunt down Bellatrix and murder her in cold blood. She wasn't going to do that, of course, but how she wanted to see the black-haired woman dead...

It just didn't feel real. She was half expecting the headmaster to tell her that it had been a mistake, that Sirius had been wounded, that he was just recovering, but she knew that was mere wishful thinking. C.C. had hurt when the Potters had been murdered and when Sirius had been locked up, but the pain she was currently experiencing was completely unparalleled; she had just lost the man who was her best friend, the man who had once been her fiancé. Even if they hadn't had a life together, C.C. still loved him in a sense, and probably always would... but just not in a romantic way.

The heavy feeling of loss anchored itself to her heart, making her fear the world around her would collapse in any second, taking her down with it. The pain crashed against her like the furious waves crash against lone boats in the sea; she felt lost, broken, as though she was bleeding out... Well, in a way she was, but the wound could not be stitched, and she could only hope time would heal it, even if she knew it would leave an enormous scar behind.

Both headmaster and former student fell silent, the only noise being C.C.'s soft cries and her laboured breathing. She didn't know for how long she cried, time was meaningless right then, but eventually, the notion that she should return to the mansion before her absence was noticed surfaced in her mind. She'd have time to mourn Sirius at home, but she needed to return to New York first. Albus offered to Apparate her back, seeing as she was in a disturbed emotional state, but she refused. She needed to be alone...

After bidding a tearful farewell to the headmaster and being informed about the funeral's date, which was going to take place in two days time, the producer Apparated back to New York. As soon as she landed in the office, she summoned her purse from the green leather sofa, and unlocked the door. The urge to flee was almost feverish, C.C. just couldn't allow anyone to see her desolation for it would surely arise questions she couldn't answer...

Not surprisingly, however, her attempt to leave the mansion unnoticed flopped the moment she opened the door and came face to face with a fidgety Niles. At the sight of a teary-eyed C.C., the butler couldn't supress the shocked gasp that left his lips; for the first time in 15 years of knowing C.C. Babcock, Niles saw her cry. She hadn't done so even when Sarah – the closest thing to a friend Miss Babcock had had – had died, which meant whatever had happened was truly grave.

"Miss Babco-"

"Out of my way!" she barked, violently pushing him away before swiftly exiting the mansion.

Niles stared after her, confused. She had seemed fine earlier, despite the deep scowl he'd last seen her wearing. Their insults never left them down for that long, and it was even more unusual for her to have locked the door – he knew that she had, because he'd tried to get back into the office. Had she been in there, by herself, crying all that time? It couldn't have been what he'd said, could it? If not, what else had happened?

He made to follow her, even though he knew it was too late because he'd just heard the front door slam. He opened it as he got to it, expecting her to only be outside, perhaps composing herself if she was going to be out in public. But she wasn't outside... he looked up and down the street, but there was no one there. Had she had the greatest stroke of luck a person could have in New York and managed to catch a passing cab? She couldn't have just disappeared into thin air!

Feeling unnerved, Niles made his way back into the mansion. Miss Babcock had given no indication of where she was going, or even if she intended to return to work that day. He didn't know what he was going to tell Maxwell when the family got back from their day trip out. He could only tell them that she seemed agitated, and was clearly crying...

He seated himself on the sofa. His work was mostly done for the day, and he was still wondering what had happened. The book appearing to move by itself. Miss Babcock locked in the office by herself, and then coming out crying. Her seeming to vanish just outside, despite the fact that it shouldn't have been possible...

He didn't know what was going on, but he'd be damned if he didn't find out.

C.C. tossed her purse on her living-room sofa and toed off her heels as soon as she Apparated into her penthouse. It had been a while since the urge to drink had been as strong and as an all-consuming as it was in that moment, but – she determined as she made a perfect bee line to the liquor cabinet – her desperate need for alcohol was the last of her problems right then.

As C.C. rummaged through the cabinet, a vague image of her mother creeped into her mind; she remembered that when she was young she had promised herself she'd never be like B.B. – she had promised herself that she wouldn't turn into the type of woman that needed alcohol to function or deal with heartache, and yet here she was...

Drinking her sorrows away.

Alcohol just made things so easy... her worries simply faded away the moment the intoxicating liquor touched her lips. She usually allowed it to sit in her mouth before gulping it down – she relished on the soothing effect her vice had on her.

Sometimes she felt it was almost heavenly.

But that night she couldn't enjoy anything, not even alcohol. Tonight alcohol was a mere way to forget, to distance herself from the pain. The producer grabbed an old bottle of Firewhiskey from the back of the cabinet and uncorked it with a loud pop. She didn't even bother to look for a glass, she knew she wouldn't need it the moment she took the bottle to her lips and, without even flinching, gulped down an obscene amount of alcohol, causing an all-too-familiar burning sensation to tingle her tired body.

It was almost ambrosial, and she momentarily closed her eyes as the golden liquid went down her throat, relieving the intense pain that was squeezing her heart... but only for a second, perhaps even less.

She took swig after swig, drinking away her sorrows as though there was no tomorrow...

Well, for Sirius there was no tomorrow.

She couldn't allow herself to think, because it would shatter her... she was drowning in sadness and alcohol, and the only thing she wanted right then, was to hear Sirius' voice telling her everything would be alright.

But nothing was alright, and it would never be alright again... Voldemort had returned and a second war was coming. The prospect was grim, but there was a dark part of her that yearned for the war to happen already – C.C. needed to fight, to avenge Sirius, to vent all the anger and frustration that were in her heart; she needed to feel she was useful. She had spent the past years hiding, just like Sirius had, and what good had it made? Hiding hadn't protected Sirius from meeting an untimely end, it hadn't prevented him to suffer... If anything it had only worsened the hopelessness both of them carried inside. C.C. had nothing to lose, and her last coherent thought before slumping down on the couch was that she was done hiding. From now on she was going to act, take an active part in the war that was to come.

The time it took for night to turn into a bright new morning, was what it took for C.C. to go through four pack of cigarettes and finish the bottle of Firewhiskey. As a consequence she had to gulp down a pot of black coffee to avoid a killing hangover and in order to keep up appearances before the Sheffields.

Even if she hadn't been able to sleep at all, C.C. had no excuse to miss work that day. For all the Sheffields knew, she had never had a fiancé, but – as she was almost certain Niles would have told them about her storming out of the mansion crying – she needed to come up with a suitable excuse for her outburst.

The blonde eventually came up with a feeble, yet believable, lie; she planned to tell Maxwell that she had simply lost another bet with Noel, which had cost her a great deal of money. Yeah, she had to hide behind her cold demeanour, and try to tolerate the next few days. After that she could simply Obliviate them all and disappear once and for all. Maxwell, Nanny Fine and the kids would be out for the day once again, so C.C. silently blessed her luck – without them in the mansion she could get her work done without having to give any explanations. Just as the blonde finished dressing herself, she noticed how worn out she looked – there were dark circles under her eyes and her usually cold blue orbs were dull and seemed dead... it was as though sadness enveloped her like an aura, and no matter how hard she tried, it was almost impossible to conceal it.

Deciding that her appearance wouldn't get any better, the blonde woman walked out of her apartment and caught a cab to the mansion, silently praying that the butler kept his nose out of her business.

"Hello, hello," she announced herself once she breezed into the Sheffield residence, putting on her best sincerely insincere smile.

"Good morning, C.C.!" Maxwell greeted her without looking up - he was too busy helping Fran with her coat whilst Niles fetched the kids' coats. "How are you today?"

"Fine, just fine," she lied. At this point, her employer looked up and frowned, before ushering his children into the living room to wait. Fran stayed where she was, looking at the producer. If C.C.'d the put a bet on Niles telling them, she would almost certainly have won it by now. There wasn't really any other reason for the nanny to hang around for this conversation, other than the fact that it was gossip and she was interested in.

"Are you sure?" he asked, lowering his voice and appearing concerned. "Niles told us what happened yesterday."

She shot a look towards the butler, who kind of raised his eyebrows and shrugged in a way that suggested he felt he had no choice.

"Absolutely," the blonde woman took on a look of confidence as she directed her gaze back to Maxwell. This was it. Time to lie. "I was just a little ticked off at my brother, that's all."

"Noel?" Maxwell blinked. "Why?"

"He and I had...rather a substantial bet going," C.C. tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, swallowing. She was hoping her little act looked genuine. "I called him, hoping he might reconsider the terms, but he won't. I guess it just became too much."

The other producer's features softened, "Oh. Is there something I can do to help in the matter?"

The blonde shook her head, "No. It's just something I'll have to deal with."

"I see," Maxwell glanced at Fran, and then at the children, who were looking over the back of the sofa, clearly listening in, despite being sent away from the conversation. "Well, if you change your mind, and you do need my assistance in the matter, then don't hesitate to tell me."

"I won't, thank you," C.C. knew she really wouldn't, but she appreciated the gesture. There was, however, a limit to everything in life, and C.C. wasn't sure she'd be able to maintain her composure for any longer. Being surrounded by people had only served to upset her, and all she needed is some time alone and getting the family out of the house.

"Anyway, shouldn't you all be going?" C.C. chirped, successfully deviating the general attention from her and the supposed 'bet'.

"That's a very good point, Miss Babcock," Fran piped up, heading for the door. "Kids!"

C.C. backed out of the way as the Sheffield children came through into the hallway, handing Niles her coat as Maxwell let her know what he expected her to do that day. Then the family said their farewells and left, the butler quickly depositing C.C.'s coat in the closet in order to close the front door.

Finally, she thought to herself, alone at last.

Alright, almost. But she could live with Niles being there, as long as she was in the office and he was...well, anywhere else.

Before heading to the office, however, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey from Maxwell's liquor cabinet -making a mental note to buy him a new one later- and sauntered to the office without even glancing at the consternated butler. Each step she took away from him, made the nonchalant façade she had bravely put on, quickly melt away. She couldn't hide the pain for long, and what she needed was the solitude of her office.

Once inside it, she didn't even attempt to get near the paperwork, she just poured herself a glass of whiskey and lit a cigarette as she plopped herself down on her chair. C.C. didn't know why, but she had brought her engagement ring with her that day, so she took it out of her pocket and carefully deposited it on Maxwell's ample desk. She observed it from her chair, remembering the night Sirius had proposed to her...

It had been a warm summer night in Britain, and Sirius – with James' help – had organised a wonderful party. All of her friends had been there, and she could almost hear Frank Sinatra's voice dancing in the air around her. Sirius had held her close to his body, lovingly whispering the lyrics of 'I Got You Under My Skin' to her ear. Suddenly, the song had changed, and 'Witchcraft' had started playing.

It was in that moment when Sirius had gotten to his knee, and as Sinatra sung, he had taken a black leather box from his pocket.

'Chastity Claire Babcock,' he had said, a cheeky grin brightening his features 'You have bewitched me... Would you marry this poor idiot?'

She had said yes, of course, and the party had gone on until dawn. James and a heavily pregnant Lily had cheered at the happy event, and had proposed a toast for the future Mr. and Mrs. Black...

That night had truly been magical in every sense of the word.

How could that have slipped through her fingers? How could it be that the life that once had seen so generous and beautiful had ended in tragedy? She was supposed to be his wife, not needing to call off their engagement because they had drifted apart...

It was just not fair.

There was a part of her that blamed herself for Sirius death; perhaps, just perhaps, if she had been there for him, she might have been able to stop him, to defend him, to help him heal... perhaps, if she had simply married him when he got out of Azkaban as he had asked, Sirius would still be with her.

But the past couldn't be undone, and Sirius was never coming back. As this gloomy thought filled her tired mind, a new wave of tears fell down. The producer wasn't used to feeling as defenceless as she was in that moment, she had always been able to cope with grief - experiencing a war does that to you - but now the only thing that C.C. could do as she stared at the ring, was curl up in a ball, in a feeble attempt to try and hide her sadness from the harsh world.

And perhaps, even from her...

"I should have been there for you," she whispered, looking at the ring, as though Sirius could hear her words. "I should have been more understanding... I shouldn't have broken the engagement the way I did..."

Unbeknownst to her, a nosey butler had been spying on her from the terrace, and he had clearly heard everything she had said...

Niles' eyes widened as the words registered. So his thought before had been right; that was an engagement ring! But who had she been engaged to? She'd never mentioned that she'd been with any man long enough to consider plans such as moving in together, let alone long enough for him to become her fiancé. Who was this man? Where was he? Why had Miss Babcock called off their engagement?

And why did the mere thought of her with this mystery man make something inside him burn?

The producer hadn't finished her speech, though, and he put aside the thoughts he was having in order to continue listening.

"It was just...I couldn't go on with the way things were...knowing that we'd drifted apart, and...and that I had feelings elsewhere..." C.C. gulped, blinking away tears. "It wasn't your fault...but it is my fault that things weren't right again afterwards. I should have made more of an effort to see you, to ease the hurt somehow. I don't know how, but I would have done anything to see you truly happy again. Even if I didn't love you any more, you were still my friend...and I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye."

Goodbye? That sounded like this man – whomever he was – had died. And fairly recently, if C.C. was regretting not being able to see him before it happened. The butler sighed to himself. No wonder the poor woman had been devastated enough to run out of the mansion yesterday. He wondered if she had had a phone call, and that was when she'd found out.

He observed the woman lit yet another cigarette, and gulp some of her whiskey, angry tears sliding down her cheeks. He had never seen her in such a state, but it didn't surprise him, either. Knowing Babcock, sadness would eventually give way to anger, and if there was one thing C.C. Babcock wasn't good at, it was dealing with anger or frustration.

"Damn this bullshit!" the blonde finally hissed as she banged her fist against the table. "Damn death, damn me, damn this shitty life!" she ranted and – before Niles could make a hasty retreat to the kitchen – the woman he had been spying on moved to the terrace, only to find herself face to face with him.

There was a second of tense silence in which the producer's expression morphed from anger, to surprise, to anger again. The butler, on the other hand, resembled a deer in the headlights.

What was he going to say now? How could he make her understand he didn't want to make fun of her?

Little did he know similar thoughts were crossing her mind, and she was trying to decide how she'd react. Part of her was angry – actually, it was more like furious – it was obvious the butler had heard about her engagement, and she was sure he had deduced her former fiancé had died by the way she had talked. But, strangely enough, part of her felt relieved too... Niles didn't seem to have malicious intentions; if anything he seemed rather surprised and ... worried? Perhaps, in this time of need, his nemesis would prove to be human enough not to mock her grief.

Taking a drag of her cigarette, the blonde schooled her emotions and finally spoke. "How long have you been there? How much did you hear?"

Niles had two choices at this point; he could either tell her he'd heard nothing and had only just appeared at the door, which in itself could go one of two ways; either she'd believe him and resort to calming herself lest he suspected anything, or she wouldn't believe him and there would be quite a while for him which would be spent being shouted at by her, for lying.

Or, he could tell her the truth. That he'd heard most – if not all – of what she'd been saying. He'd have to explain that he hadn't meant to, and apologise. Then, maybe, he could try offering her some support, if that's what she wanted right that moment. If not, he'd turn around, and they'd say no more about it.

One option seemed a lot easier than the other.

One option might make things easier between them.

"Enough," he managed to eventually say as a reply. C.C. took a step back, and before she could say or do whatever she was about to, he kept talking. "But I am sorry I heard it. I can't claim to know exactly what you've been through, but from what I gather, you lost someone extremely close to you, and I am sorry for your loss. Seeing as how you now know that I know, I want you to know that you can talk to me about this any time you need to. I won't even tell Mr. Sheffield without your permission, I'll keep up the pretence that you lost a bet with your brother. I know we have our differences, but rest assured, I would never mock another person over something like this."

The producer let out a breath. She hadn't expected him to answer truthfully, let alone to give an answer like that. He was even offering to keep her secret and to be a shoulder to cry on!

She wiped her eyes, looking away from his gaze, "Why are you being so nice about this? I haven't done anything worth you keeping quiet."

Niles hesitated, but walked to her and tentatively placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She didn't reject the contact, which to him was a good sign.

"Because I know you are hurting deeply. I would have to be a monster to not be supportive."

And then, after some moments of hesitation, the most wonderful thing happened... the producer – who until then had been looking away from him and had had her arms folded – took a step forward and hugged him. It took a moment for him to understand what she wanted, but eventually he wrapped his arms around her, too, and allowed her to cry as he slowly guided her to the green leather sofa, and sat them there. Niles was willing to let her cry for as long as she wanted, God knows the poor woman clearly needed this – the support he was kindly offering her.

Part of him sensed she wasn't crying just for this man's death, but also for a number of burdens she had carried around for years. What could possibly be troubling her? He had thought he knew Miss Babcock, but the woman in front of him had an entire facet that was unknown to him! She had been engaged, for crying out loud!

"There, there, let it all out, Miss Babcock," he muttered as he rubbed her back in a soothing fashion. The woman only tightened her grip on him, and hid her face in the crook of his neck.

How good it felt to be in his arms... it was as though she belonged there. But she couldn't think about her feelings for the butler, not now...

"Would you like to talk about it?" Niles asked in an unusually soft voice. She had heard him use that voice with the kids, back when Sarah had just died, and there was something terribly endearing about him taking the time to listen, about him truly wanting to ease the sorrow that was suffocating her. But could he tell him? She was in desperate need for someone who truly heard her, but could that someone be Niles? Besides, seeing as he was a Muggle, she'd have to be extremely careful with the information she gave him, for if she accidentally talked too much she'd be forced to Obliviate him.

But something inside of her knew... something inside her encouraged her to take his offer and tell him about her sorrow and so, after taking a deep breath, the producer gave a soft nod, still hidden in his embrace.

"I-I was engaged to a man many years ago. We went to school together, and he lived in England. I know this might surprise you, but I was born in Britain, because my father had moved there for his business. Anyway, I was sent to this boarding school in Scotland, where I met him... we dated for quite some time – I was fifteen when we became a couple, and when I was nineteen he proposed and I said yes," C.C. made a little pause, bracing herself for what was coming next, "But then he got into... trouble... and was falsely accused of a crime he didn't commit, and spent thirteen years in jail. I didn't break the engagement, although part of me feared he had actually murdered those poor people. He was released eventually, finally proving his innocence. When I saw him again –after having waited for him for almost fifteen years – the love was gone... and I called off the engagement. I visited him every now and then, but he seemed unhappy, as though life was meaningless. Yesterday... I-I called him, only to discover he had been murdered, and that my godson, our godson, had been endangered, too."

Niles felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. It was terrible enough that a man she had once loved was dead, but somehow it became even worse that he had been murdered...that his life had been taken without warning, with no purpose to it, and that by the sound of things, he and C.C. had never had the chance to properly settle things after they had broken up.

But then something else in her words suddenly sank in.

"You have a godson?" he asked gently, looking down towards where her face was buried.

He felt her nod against his skin, "Mm hm. His name is Harry. He's fifteen, nearly sixteen."

The producer could almost feel the butler looking at her, and pulled away slightly to look at him.

"I know, I know - I'm not exactly the godmother type, am I?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything," Niles shrugged.

An involuntary chuckle left C.C.'s lips, and the butler realised she wasn't crying anymore. "I've changed a lot since I agreed to do it," she said. Then she let out a sigh. "Everything's changed. But I'm just thankful the people who got...that Harry wasn't hurt by the people who-"

"You don't have to say it," Niles interrupted. "Not if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Thanks," she muttered, resting her head on his shoulder once again. C.C. was truly surprised by how attentive and caring Niles was being, and finally being able to cry and talk about her problems had proved to be a wonderful relief for her pained soul. "I was a kid when I was appointed as his godmother, you know? Can you imagine? I was nineteen, engaged and a godmother! When James and Lily asked Sirius – my former fiancé – and I to be Harry's godparents, we had just gotten engaged. Lily used to joke about how much fun it would be when we both had kids, and that she only asked to be the matron of honour in our wedding. She joked about how I'd become Mrs. Black dressed all in white," C.C. smiled at the fond memories of her late friend. Lily had been, by far, the most wonderful and kind woman she had ever met, and thinking about her made her want to cry and to smile. It was bittersweet, in every sense of the word.

"The Potters were wonderful people, and so is their son, but they were murdered, too, almost fifteen years ago now."

C.C. wasn't paying attention to Niles any longer, for she was lost in recalling old and happier times. Times when she was free to do what she wanted, times when her friends hadn't been murdered by a psychopath... now memories were all that she had; memories and huge holes in her heart that couldn't seem to be filled.

"I have a photo of them in my purse," C.C. reached out for her handbag – which was resting by her side on the love seat, just where she had dropped it when she had entered the office – and retrieved an old picture. In it five people could be seen; there was a black haired man with round glasses hugging a beautiful redhead, who was holding a new-born baby boy in her arms. She had the kindest smile, and a pair of green eyes that seemed to shine. Right next to her, there was another black haired man, only he was holding a giggling – and visibly younger and happier – C.C. in his arms. "These three over here, are the Potters: James, Lily and Harry Potter, my godson."

Niles eyes widened for a second... she had said Harry Potter? Could it...? No... It couldn't be possible!

"May I?" he asked in a trembling voice, and C.C. handed the photo to him.

His eyes widened as he studied the photo, and after a few moments in which time seemed to stand still, he wordlessly handed the photo back to her. C.C. accepted it, and stashed it away in her purse again. She was kind of surprised he'd made no comment so far on the photo, but she didn't complain. The calm they were both in at that moment was kind of nice. She just wondered what the butler was thinking about; he was studying her carefully, as though he was trying to work something out but kept coming up with answers that were either impossible, or that he didn't like.
Hoping to bring him out of whatever dream he was having, she continued the conversation.

"Whoever would've guessed it would turn out like this?" she sighed.

"Not me," Niles replied. However, he didn't seem to be talking entirely about the situation at hand. His eyes were glazed over in what seemed to be...shock? Surprise? It was hard to get a read on him.

The producer quirked an eyebrow at his nearly motionless form, "Niles, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Miss Babcock," he nodded, his expression never once changing.

"Then would you mind doing me a favour and just blinking a couple of times?" C.C. was actually becoming concerned because the man had gone pale. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Niles didn't respond, he only looked at her in the eye, and for some strange reason she felt hypnotised by his intense stare. It wasn't long until she felt somewhat uneasy, as though something had creeped into her mind... she immediately broke eye contact, and shuddered involuntary. What had just happened? Niles, who had leaned back on the green leather sofa, was even paler than before. He looked unwell, or as though he was about to be sick.

"Niles, you are scaring me! Should I call a doctor? Are you ok?" she asked in an almost frantic voice, concern written all over her face.

The man took his time to reply, but when he eventually did, he brushed her off by alleging his blood pressure had just dropped. C.C., who didn't want any more close encounters with death or illness, quickly left for the kitchen in order to get him a cup of tea and something sweet to munch on. She couldn't understand what could have possibly provoked that reaction, but what she was certain of was that he had never seen so out of his element in his life!

Meanwhile, now finally alone, Niles carefully went over what he had just seen in her mind. He had always been a gifted Legilimens, and as C.C. hadn't put up resistance, he had been able to see it all... and what he saw knocked him off his socks.

C.C. Babcock, his nemesis, the Bitch of Broadway, Maxwell Sheffield's associate...

Was a witch.

And not just any witch, but Harry bloody Potter's godmother and Sirius Black's ex-fiancé! Not only was she a part of his world and had gone to his same school, but she had also been involved in the First Wizarding War! It was absolute madness!

How could she have kept a secret like that for so long? How could he have not seen it before?! He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid; there must have been plenty of signs over the years which he'd either not noticed, dismissed as him simply seeing things, or didn't recognise even if he did see them!

One thing, through all the confusion and shock of Miss Babcock actually being a witch, actually made sense; the distance. She had obviously returned to New York in order to distance herself, both from the war and from what remained of her life in Britain. Not that there was probably much of that left.

But he had so many questions for her, too. Now that he knew the truth, they actually had more in common than ever. He had often complained to the Sheffields of feeling alone, which they had dismissed as him being bitter about his standing in life, but it was so much more than that. He had no friends in the States who had magic – well, as far as he knew. After all, if the producer had magic, anything was possible.

It was almost ironic, really. The one woman he claimed to hate above anyone else, and she was the one person he could potentially share his secret with.

That brought him to his next question. Would he really do it? Would he tell her? There couldn't be any real harm in it, could there? They were both magical, so they wouldn't be breaking any rules...did he want to tell her? He'd kept it to himself for so long, and at one stage he would have been convinced that the last person he would tell was her.

What was he going to do?

As he puzzled it over, C.C. came back into the room, carrying a tray.

"I brought us some tea, and I found some cookies," she said, settling the tray on the desk. "You feeling any better?"

For the moment, the butler chose to remain silent. He had a lot of thinking to do, there was no doubt about it, and – even if he was going to tell Babcock about his magic – he still wanted time to stomach the news. He smiled at her, and slowly straightened his posture.

"Yes, thank you very much," he said in the calmest voice possible, and accepted the offered cup of tea.

Now it all made sense: the book he thought had levitated to her, her seemingly vanishing into thin air; now he understood why she had spoken in such an odd way in the cruise... speaking of that, he clearly remembered her saying she was a little serpent, which could only mean she was a Slytherin... ha, what a surprise!

Now he could understand the reason behind C.C. being such an aggressive and generally unpleasant person; she had lost so much, she had faced so much, that she must have adopted her ornery persona as a defence mechanism. He understood the alcohol, the smoking, the general disregard for her health... Now that he knew what he knew, the cause of her pain was evident.

If Sirius had been murdered, and if Harry had been in danger, it could only mean The Dark Lord was truly back. He had been trying to deny that to himself, but by what she had said and by what he had seen in her mind, it was very clear the Dark Lord had returned. What did that mean for her? Knowing Babcock, she was going to fight... fight against every damn thing that crossed her path! But this also meant that – in case a second war ensued – she'd go away.

And, for all the times he had tried to make her quit, or be sent away, or even (once or twice in the first few months that they'd known each other – neither time he was actually particularly proud of) get her fired, he felt different about it this time. Before, he would have been doing backflips and wanting to shout from the rooftops about how he'd finally beaten her. How his nemesis was finally gone.

But now, the last thing he wanted was for her to go.

Was it because she was going so far away? Was it because she would probably be gone for a very long time? Was it because she was going to put herself in danger?

Was it because she might not come back?

Whatever happened whilst she was away, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Any fights, any injuries...anything else, she was going to face it alone.

Well, not entirely, obviously. Although, knowing C.C. Babcock, she would probably give it a damn good go if it came right down to it. But she'd be facing any threat without any help from him, when he could provide it.

If he told her.

If she was going to leave, as his gut instinct and his knowledge relating to her personality were telling him, he might have to be quick about it.

But the timing would have to be exactly right. He didn't need it going wrong in any way.

"I am going to Britain for a few days," she eventually spoke up, bringing him out of his thoughts. "The funeral is taking place in two days time, and I should be there. Would you please tell Maxwell I'll be gone for a while?" the woman lost the small smile their strangely pleasant time had evoked.

As the memories from the past hours came rushing back at her, she felt the tears slowly threatening to fall down again. It was time to go, she thought to herself, she needed to leave for Britain.

"Of course, Miss Babcock. What should I tell him when he asks me about the motive behind your sudden departure?" he asked, politely helping her up.

"The truth... Just tell him I'll explain everything to him later. I probably won't be reached at my phone, either; the venue of the funeral is quite isolated and I'll probably won't get good service."

Technology didn't work at Hogwarts, and frankly it was an advantage... The last thing she needed was to be bombarded with business phone calls. Niles immediately understood where she was going, and nodded in agreement. She was going back to Hogwarts, their old school.

As they reached the office's door, an uncomfortable silence hung between them for a second, neither of them knowing exactly what to say. The moment they had shared a few minutes ago had been odd enough as it was -they weren't used to being kind to one another, even if that was what their hearts wanted.

"So, uh... I hope you arrive safely to -oomf!" he was cut off by her giving him a quick hug. It only lasted for a second, but he knew how much it meant, coming from her.

"You don't have to say anything, Hazel," she said as she pulled away. That felt like a lie – there was still so much that they had to say to one another, if they could both fight through the many layers of fear, pride, (pretend) hatred, and awkwardness that they had been caught up in for the better part of their time knowing one another. But it was all she could say to him - it was all she had time for. "I'd better be going now. I have to pack."

With a hasty "goodbye" that the butler barely heard, the producer had grabbed her purse and made a swift exit from the office.

For a moment, Niles was stunned. The time they had just shared together had felt extremely personal, and all the information he had received – both from her own information and from his own deduction – had left his head reeling.

But he had to snap out of it. Miss Babcock had magic, there was no doubt in his mind about it now, and she could leave for Britain at any time. She might not even have to pack; she could have an Undetectable Extension Charm on her purse and already be ready, for all he knew. And he still hadn't even told her he was a wizard, too.

He had to figure out what to do, and the only course of action in that regard was to get himself in gear, be quick, and follow her before it was too late.